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Curiosity had gotten the better of me and spending a night with Hirsh seemed like a great idea. Spending an evening away from my laptop and textbooks also seemed like a great idea.
Who are you and what have you done with Everly Parker?
When I entered into this relationship with Max, I had expected to use him, check off a few items on the list, and be on my way. I never anticipated that he’d pick up where my grandmother had left off—trying to teach me to relax and come out of my shell.
The funny thing about it all, I had no idea why I was listening.
Chapter 15
Max
I knew the risk bringing Everly here, but I was strategic in my timing. My father never left the office before seven o’clock. Of course, today of all days, he decided to leave early.
“What are you doing home, Dad?”
He flashed me that look: the half-curious, half-indignant one. I knew in his head he was saying “How dare you tell me when I can come and go in my own home.” But he just smiled.
“Hoping to have some time to yourself?”
His eyebrow quirked up and he looked at me, but kept his head focused on the chicken. He was teasing. My father never teased.
“I…”
I was at a loss for words. I didn’t know how to answer that question.
“Max showed me your accomplishment room.” Everly’s voice broke my thoughts. “It’s wonderful.”
I’d brought Everly to see the accomplishment room. It had been a long time since I’d gone in there. Walking down the stairs to the basement felt like walking the green mile. My intentions were admirable, but I had no idea if she would think the room was funny, completely pathetic, or even worse, disturbing. Luckily, Everly had the sense of humor I’d expected, and she’d laughed her ass off.
“Max’s mother was big on celebrating accomplishments.”
I wondered how proud she’d be if she was here. I hadn’t done anything worth adding to the room since she’d died.
“My parents are good at pushing me to accomplish things.” Everly stared at the counter when she spoke, her shoulders tense, slowly making their way to her ears. “But they aren’t as good at recognizing them.”
I had spent my entire life being praised for the smallest of accomplishments. Looking back, it was overkill, and a therapist would probably say it’s the source of my arrogance. My mommy told me I was great, so I believed it¸ but since she’s been gone, I have this sinking feeling that she was terribly, horribly wrong.
My father bounced from one end of the kitchen to the other, placing pots and pans on the stove and chopping herbs. I’d never seen him like this. Like he had been revived from a conscious slumber. It was exciting, yet troublesome at the same time.
“Everly, dear, will you hand me that bottle of olive oil?”
With a sweet smile, she handed it over. My father counted as he circled the bottle three times above a frying pan on the stove.
I knew my father had been experimenting in the kitchen. He’d told me about his new recipes, often bringing in leftovers for Barb, who’d moan with delight at the taste. But seeing him in action, his eyes lighting up at the sight of raw chicken, was fucking weird.
Although someone finally making use of the kitchen as it should be was probably a good thing. While my mother tried her best, gourmet cooking wasn’t her forte.
“I’ve been watching the Food Network,” he said as he slid some chopped garlic from a cutting board into the pan. “They make it look so easy.”
“You’re making it look pretty easy, Mr. Levin.”
“Call me Hirsh.” He moved the garlic around with a wooden spoon.
“The more you watch, the more you learn.” He looked up from the pan. “The less you need a recipe.”
So this is what my father was doing to pass the time. Watching the Food Network? Maybe it was an indication I needed to visit more often.
“So, how did you two meet?” He threw the chicken, along with several other ingredients, into a Ziploc bag.
